The World Through Teal-Colored Glasses
by Madame Onyx
Summary: After the summer of the Other Mother, Coraline and Wybie strugge to live in a world just as scary and unkind to strange people lie them. It doesn't help that Coraline has a knack for attracting supernatural attention and Wybie has trouble dealing with unfamiliar feelings.


It was when they were fourteen that Coraline stopped dying her hair.

At first Wybie didn't give it a second thought, just awkwardly assured her that her natural brown hair was pretty as is and continuing on with their homework. Not that it had done anything; his words never carried much weight with her, no-one's did. Coraline was the type to brush off words like dust off her jacket and just keep walking. And after his assurance she had simply shrugged and continued talking about the latest installation of her zombie novel series.

They shared only one class, and that was English. Wybie was the kid who sat in the corner and only spoke when called on or spoken to, hyper aware of how the other kids perceived him. Being the grandson of an estranged grandmother and absent parents with a tendency to nervously chatter about less than ideal topics (such as slugs and the human emotion of disgust and what causes it) did not make you the popular one.

Coraline was different. She was known by almost everyone for her colorful clothes, (she took a needle to the standard beige and khaki uniforms, adorning them with blue and green and yellow patterns and layers) and equally expressive hair which got her in trouble with the officials at least once a month. She was interesting and loud and creative, where Wybie was withdrawn and eccentric.

The only place he flourished was the engineering elective he took each year. Always good with machinery and wires and the like, he was top of the class and also the one that failed the most. He would regularly set fire to his project or run it into the ground before it went off without a hitch.

They were friends in that they tolerated each other's weirdness. Wybie listened to her grand schemes and outbursts, and Coraline helped him test out his inventions and accepted his odd manner of speech and dress. She also assisted him with their English assignments, which were always boring and difficult for him.

"So, why _did _you stop dying it?" He asked, lifting his eyes from the book he was supposed to be reading. Coraline was across the room on a loveseat, legs curled up to her chest as she rested the book on her knees. He always wondered how one could possibly sit comfortably like that, and once explained to her how the human spine could only take a certain degree of bending before it snapped.

She gave her default answer, a shrug of her shoulders. "I don't know. Just didn't feel like keeping up with it, I guess."

Wybie nodded, than frowned a second later. "Isn't that the argument your mom made when you tried purple? And you said that you always had time to, uh, 'set yourself away from the herd of mindless, drooling sheep'?"

Coraline looked up and glared, shifting into a cross-legged position. "I changed my mind."

Something was off. Not just her hair, but how she had been acting the last few weeks. She was quieter, not as mouthy. The teachers and her parents were thrilled, but Wybie felt concerned beyond all else.

He braced himself and shut his book. "Jonesy, what's wrong? You're acting weirder than that time I dared you to eat catnip."

Coraline flipped her hair and glared down at her book now. "I don't know what you're talking about. Just finish the chapter so I can go home, already."

It was now that he spotted the smudge of black under her eye. "Wait, are you wearing make up?"

"What's wrong with that?" She asked, voice edgy and defensive.

"Uh, nothing," he replied haltingly, "but you always said you wouldn't be caught dead with that 'clown paint' on."

"_I changed my mind, okay?" _She yelled, shooting up out of her seat to stand over him. He flinched away but kept eye contact with her, nervously licking his lips.

"Finally."

Coraline sighed and rolled her eyes in a sweetly familiar gesture. "Finally what?"

"You're yelling again. I've, uh," he felt his palm sweat and cheeks turn red like he was confessing something, "I've missed it."

Silence blanketed them and Coraline stood there, mismatched socks scraping against the carpet as she looked down at the floor. Wybie leaned forward and looked up, dropping his head to the side like the Cat.

He was not prepared for the tears forming in the corner of her eyes. They started to fall as she fell back with them, back against the base of the loveseat and forehead pressed to her arms as she hid her face. Her sides started heaving and muffled sounds of soft sobbing started.

Wybie watched, unsure of what to do. He felt like he was on an island, far away and helpless. He had never witnessed Coraline crying and found he didn't like it at all, moving from the couch to sit next to her, shoulder touching hers.

For a while that sat like that until her breathing evened out. Coraline lifted her head, face red and eyes bloodshot and still watery.

"My parents," she said shakily. "They've been fighting all the time now, about everything. Especially me," she sniffed, rubbing her nose with her sleeve. "My dad says I'm annoying. My mom says I'm too old for dyed hair. I just thought—maybe if I fixed me, I could fix them, too."

Wybie swallowed thickly, fingers tangling together as he spoke. "Um, Jonesy, I don't think you need to fix you. You're not _broken._" She kept staring at the wall. Wybie took a deep breath. "Look, I don't know how to deal with parents fighting because, well, I never—" he choked, pushing his messy brown curls out of his eyes. Coraline looked at him now, steady and silent. He struggled for what to say as she watched him.

"Your parents will love you no matter what," he finally assured her, nodding. "And, uh…I…I'll like you no matter what you look like," he admitted, his cheeks burning again. He couldn't look at her and focused on the leg of his old couch, studying the swirling grains of the wood as Coraline remained silent.

He felt a warm, terrifyingly pleasant pressure on his shoulder as she leaned against him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye and found another tear rolling down her cheek as a small smile graced her thin lips.

"Thanks, Psycho-Nerd," she whispered.

Next Monday she walked into class with a shimmering blue-green bob and a punch to his shoulder.

**Note: Rating will go up as they get older. You know why. **


End file.
